


Of Love and Other Things

by Aarri



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Basically fluff without plot, F/M, Post-Promised Day sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aarri/pseuds/Aarri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buccaneer's death and Miles' impending transfer to the East weighed heavily on both of them, but the last thing either expected was to find solace in each other. LivMiles oneshot, post-Promised Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Love and Other Things

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is my first work on here...and yet, I can. After I re-watched all of Brotherhood last week LivMiles kind of grabbed me by surprise, tied up my feelings, and is presently holding them hostage. I usually beta my own work as I go, but I wrote this at 4 AM whilst unable to sleep, so I apologize deeply for any potential mistakes (and perhaps how out of character one or both of them are). It's shockingly difficult to write Olivier as anything shy of the badass Ice Queen we all know and love.  
> Anyway. Enjoy!

Olivier Armstrong awoke feeling better than she had in days. Despite the bandages wound tightly around her middle, her wounds from the Promised Day seemed to have closed up, for the most part. Gingerly pressing against the affected areas, she was pleased to find that the damage inflicted by Sloth was becoming less noticeable. She did, however, take note of two things.

One: Her clothes were not _on_ her, but folded neatly on a nearby chair.

Two: She was the only one in the bed, which begged several questions.

She struggled slightly to sit up, but made it nonetheless. The place beside her was still warm, so it was evident that Miles couldn’t have gotten too far. A small smirk tugged at Olivier’s mouth. It was highly unlikely that he would have left. No, he had folded her uniform, to boot. The Major was far too considerate to be running off on her like that; of that, Olivier was certain. Besides, after last night… _ah_ , last night. After what had passed between them, it was even less likely that he would have simply up and left her.

Though both had said little after Buccaneer’s funeral, there was little that needed to be said. Both grieved silently; it was simply their nature, just as it was for all Briggs men. Miles, however, knew that she was suffering more than she let on. Olivier had known Buccaneer longer, even, than she had Miles or Karley or any of the other Briggs veterans. To the external eye, the Major General looked stony as she did any other day of the week. Miles saw her differently, just as he did every other day in her company.

_She grieved, and so did he. He had pressed her, concern shadowing his red eyes despite her frosty reply that she was perfectly fine, thank you Major, in a tone that threatened dismemberment. Perhaps it was that he had turned to leave for his own quarters, then, which finally pushed her to drop the façade she had been putting up since the news of Buccaneer’s death had reached them._

_“Miles. Please stay.”_

_He had obeyed, taken aback at both her weary tone and politeness. The former had concerned him the most, however; after a long silence, he took a tentative step toward her, and she stumbled to meet him, ending up in his arms._

_They stood like that for a long while, both taking solace in the comfort of a comrade and friend who had endured and suffered what the other had. Miles was gentle when he withdrew, brushing a strand of blonde from her face._

_“I’ll stay as long as you’d like,” he murmured, and she tightened her hold on his jacket. Their proximity should have unnerved him, but then, the Ishvalan reflected, his Queen often surprised him._

Olivier snorted, recalling what had happened minutes later. It had not surprised her that, after many years of constant companionship and serving together, loyalty had blurred into fondness, which had seemingly blossomed into affection. She had known for a long time that Miles was more than a mere subordinate to her, and perhaps even more than her trusted adjutant. She had suspected his feelings, as well, but had said nothing; professionalism was one thing that held Briggs together, and it had remained until she had kissed him.

_Red eyes widened at the sudden, hard press of full lips against his own, but Miles found he couldn’t reject what she offered. His conception of boundaries slid away as he returned the kiss, and when they parted, only then did he dare search her eyes for an answer._

_She gave him none, however. And it clicked – this was just like her, to test him, to test his understanding of her. Olivier was not affectionate by nature, yet this was not a shock to him. Her kiss, almost bruising, could have meant many things, but he wanted to believe that somehow it was an expression of what they’d both kept silent for so long._

_“Miles.” She interrupted his thoughts so easily, as was her custom._

_“Sir?”_

_“Stop thinking and kiss me again.”_

_He didn’t need to be told twice._

Just as she expected, Miles pushed the door to the room open then, clutching two cups of coffee and looking incredibly relaxed, unlike his usual Briggs demeanor. His hair was loosely captured in his customary ponytail, but strands of white still hung about his face, and Olivier did have to admit to herself… _well_. He looked rather dashing out of uniform, in a crisp white button-down and slacks.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, giving her a somewhat lopsided grin, and Olivier frowned.

“Miles, _please_.” She rolled her eyes, and he merely laughed. “Good morning _Olivier_ , then,” Miles corrected himself, kissing her cheek before coming to sit next to her on the bed, proffering a cup of coffee. She took it, but made a face after the first sip.

“Where in the hell did this come from?”

“One of the butlers was brewing it and asked if I’d like a cup, so I took two,” he said, by way of explanation, unable to help but smile at her quiet groan.

“So, you’re telling me the manor staff knows of our _tryst_? Fantastic, Miles,” Olivier growled, though there was little malice behind it as opposed to her usual tone. He held up his hands in surrender, having put his own mug down on her bedside table.

“I didn't say it was for you. Your brother –” he ignored her glare and continued smoothly, “– is recovering as well, and he probably could have done with a bit of caffeine too.”

The Major General gave him a baleful look. “In essence, you’re telling me that the staff knows you’re fucking _one_ of us, but not which one. I’d almost prefer you telling them outright, if this is to be the case,” she said frostily, and her tone probably would have scared off anyone else for fear of being run through. (Her sword was leaning against the chair with her clothes, after all.) Miles, however, responded by leaning over and kissing her soundly, one hand trailing down her shoulder to rest on her upper arm.

“If they've any intelligence at all, they’ll figure it out,” he told her, arching one severe eyebrow.

“Mmm. I suppose they will, as servants are often too bright for their own good.” Miles responded by way of kissing her again, unable to help but feel that, in truth, he didn’t give a damn who knew about them.

“That they are, Olivier, though I’m almost inclined not to care,” he added after they broke apart, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“You’re rather forward this morning, Major,” she replied, pulling away and smirking. Hearing her first name pass his lips was a welcome surprise, just as it had been the night before.

_“O-Olivier, please….”_

_His use of her first name, as opposed to the rank that she carried with dignity, sent chills up her spine, and she tugged him closer to kiss him again.  
Soon enough clothing was an unwelcome interruption, and Olivier winced at the thought that she might have to re-attach some of the buttons in the morning (God forbid anyone find out that sewing was a rather well-concealed talent she had, or the maids become too curious for their own good), but that didn’t stop their eagerness. _

_It was with relief that Miles ran his hands down her bare form, acutely attentive to every part of her body, and especially careful not to aggravate her wounds. She in turn flipped him on his back (Miles giving her a bemused look), but he groaned at the attention she paid his well-muscled abdomen._

_Afterwards, they merely lay together, saying little, but both feeling happier than they had in a while. All too soon, though, reality wormed its way back into Olivier’s mind, and she sat up, sighing._

_“I suppose even I can’t hold onto you forever, Miles,” she said bitterly, thinking of his pending transfer to Ishval. He propped himself up beside her, studying her carefully with unflinching red eyes. It was a while before he nodded, and even longer before he chose to speak, mulling over his words carefully._

_“You are right, naturally,” the Major said, not looking at her. “I presume business in the East will keep me there for quite a while. After all, I can’t leave only to return to find that Mustang and Scar have killed each other, can I?” She snorted, but he shook his head in reply. “Much as I know you’d probably be glad to be rid of the Colonel, he is a valuable asset…when he wants to be.”_

_Olivier looked suddenly fragile, even vulnerable as he looked at her, and it frightened him. It frightened Miles that she could show such weakness, and even more so that he should be the one to cause it. It was gone as quickly as it had come, however, and she looked away._

_“Olivier.” He cupped her face with one hand, and gently turned her to look at him. She was half a second away from giving him a solid punch, but the seriousness in his expression stopped her. “I might be in the East for years, but never doubt that I will come back to Briggs when the time is right.” He cut himself off, afraid of what he might say if he continued any further._

_“I know that,” she snapped, jerking away from his hold. “It is under my order that you’re leaving, after all. This is what is right for you, and right for this country.” As much as she wanted him beside her, she was very seriously considering unceremoniously depositing him and his frustrating self in the hallway, to make his own way back to his room in the manor. She was not prepared for what he said next, however, and never could have been._

_“This is as frustrating for me as it is for you,” Miles said quietly, jaw working in irritation. Even though she had ordered him to go to Ishval, honoring his goal and recognizing the good it would do Amestris, he knew it was torture for her to have to lose both of her most trusted subordinates within one week. Her law – Briggs’ law – dictated that she would keep going without them, but it didn't make it any easier on either of them._

_“But if I am to achieve the dream I've had since the war,” he continued after a moment, “even if it means abandoning my commander and the woman I love, then I will gladly do what is needed to rebuild my ancestral land.”_

_All she could do was stare at him. Olivier had no doubt that she had heard him correctly, but his admitting it so openly and so soon was a true shock. As if realizing what he had said, Miles flushed faintly, but he didn't apologize, nor did he look away from her._

_After a long moment, Olivier sighed._

_“You’re a fool, Miles. An absolute imbecile. There is no room for something like love in this confounded military!” she barked, though to his credit he held her gaze unflinchingly. She surprised him, however, by not berating him any further._

_“I’m glad you’re my fool, at least.”_

_Miles couldn't help but give her a sheepish grin._

“I can at least afford to be forward with you,” he replied with a small smile, drawing Olivier out of her thoughts. “Especially since, starting four days from now, you’ll no longer be my commander. I suppose we won’t be breaking any fraternization laws then, at least,” he added, red eyes gleaming with humor.

“Shut up, Miles,” she said, though the words lacked real conviction. Olivier glanced at him fondly, and without warning pulled him on top of her before kissing him deeply. Perhaps one day she could admit everything that she felt for him without feeling spineless, and utterly _weak_. For now…this would do just fine.

Besides, knowing Miles, he already had it figured out.


End file.
